Macavity: The Mystery Cat
by T. S. Eliot
Macavity’s a Mystery Cat: he’s called the Hidden Paw—
For he’s the master criminal who can defy the Law.
He’s the bafflement of Scotland Yard, the Flying Squad’s despair: For
when they reach the scene of crime—Macavity’s not there!
Macavity, Macavity, there’s no one like Macavity, He’s broken every
human law, he breaks the law of gravity. His powers of levitation would
make a fakir stare, And when you reach the scene of crime—Macavity’s
not there!
You may seek him in the basement, you may look up in the air— But I
tell you once and once again, Macavity’s not there!
Macavity’s a ginger cat, he’s very tall and thin;
You would know him if you saw him, for his eyes are sunken in. His brow
is deeply lined with thought, his head is highly domed; His coat is
dusty from neglect, his whiskers are uncombed.
He sways his head from side to side, with movements like a snake; And
when you think he’s half asleep, he’s always wide awake.
Macavity, Macavity, there’s no one like Macavity, For he’s a fiend in
feline shape, a monster of depravity.
You may meet him in a by-street, you may see him in the square— But
when a crime’s discovered, then Macavity’s not there!
He’s outwardly respectable. (They say he cheats at cards.) And his
footprints are not found in any file of Scotland Yard’s. And when the
larder’s looted, or the jewel-case is rifled, Or when the milk is
missing, or another Peke’s been stifled, Or the greenhouse glass is
broken, and the trellis past repair— Ay, there’s the wonder of the
thing! Macavity’s not there!
And when the Foreign Office find a Treaty’s gone astray, Or the
Admiralty lose some plans and drawings by the way, There may be a scrap
of paper in the hall or on the stair— But it’s useless to
investigate—Macavity’s not there!
And when the loss has been disclosed, the Secret Service say: “It must
have been Macavity!”—but he’s a mile away.
You’ll be sure to find him resting, or a-licking of his thumbs, Or
engaged in doing complicated long division sums.
Macavity, Macavity, there’s no one like Macavity, There never was a Cat
of such deceitfulness and suavity. He always has an alibi, and one or
two to spare:
At whatever time the deed took place—MACAVITY WASN’T THERE! And they
say that all the Cats whose wicked deeds are widely known, (I might
mention Mungojerrie, I might mention Griddlebone) Are nothing more than
agents for the Cat who all the time Just controls their operations: the
Napoleon of Crime!
